


Coffee Break

by smiles2go



Series: Fairy Tales [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smiles2go/pseuds/smiles2go
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just a bit of fluff, saved to cheer Bru up from the fallout of End of the Line</p>
    </blockquote>





	Coffee Break

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of fluff, saved to cheer Bru up from the fallout of End of the Line

~~*~~

One morning when it was quiet and grey and freezing outside, Jim stumbled down the stairs annoyed that he was awake so early on a Sunday and flipped on the kitchen light. 

Barely managing to not jump out of his skin when found Blair standing in the dark kitchen, eyes definitely closed, swaying slightly, in front of the coffee maker. A quick check of his heartbeat and other vitals reveals nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe the kid walked in his sleep, he chuckled. Well, coffeemaker was the place to head. 

“Morning Chief.” He mumbled and tied his robe a little tighter just noticing the chill air. _Someone_ must have left a window open again. _Someone_ better get a clue before it’s shoved down his throat.

Blair’s head turned blindly toward him, tangled hair wild and free. Both hands reached up and gestured aimlessly toward Jim and the coffee pot. “Coffee. Make the coffee happen.” His voice was rusty with disuse and Jim had to dial hearing up a notch to understand him. Blair swayed dangerously to one side and Jim reached out to catch him, annoyance turned to amusement in a flash. Kid hadn’t made it home yet when he’d gone to bed, but he’d heard him trying to tiptoe in around 2a.m. 

“Pleeeeeeeease?” His face tilted up, eyes open barely a slit and his lips forming a firm pout that made Jim snicker even as he reached for the ground coffee.

“Okay baby bird.” Shuffling him over to the table, Jim pulled out a chair, sat him down and went back to the counter to fill the carafe with water. “What did you do before you had me to make you coffee in the morning?”

“Don’t have coffee where I’m from.” Jim turned to look at him in surprise and found Blair had laid his face on folded arms and was nearly asleep. His mouth pressed tight against one flannel sleeve, Jim decided he must have misunderstood the muffled words. There wasn't a place on earth that didn’t have coffee. Not anymore.

Soft snores made Jim grin widely and finish measuring grounds into the filter. The kid was annoying as hell when he was awake, talking nonstop about this, that and whatever came to mind, but he made Jim laugh, something he’d almost forgotten how to do. Running his eyes over the kid, extending his senses, Jim noted many things about Blair that shouldn’t have been there but were. He was still unraveling the enigma of Blair Sandburg, self-proclaimed Guide to the only Sentinel in existence. 

He was dressed in batman boxers (where on earth did they sell batman boxers for adults?) and a ratty grey tee shirt with a faded picture of Homer Simpson giving someone the finger. One black and one red sock sagged around his ankles. To top it all off, a blue and maroon plaid robe several sizes too big, missing the tie hung haphazardly across his shoulders. It wasn’t until Jim blinked at it a few times that he realized it was inside out. 

His skin was fair and the envy of every woman he met. Megan was always complaining loudly that it wasn’t fair that Blair had perfect, creamy skin and long, long lashes when he was just a guy. There was no way that hair-color came from a box. Jim’s eyes magnified and he was able to pick out several different shades of blond and gold and mahogany and rust and burnt henna – and that was just from the Crayola 96 colors box.

Brining up his sense of smell caused a frown to mar Jim’s expression. He’d been able to sniff Blair from close-up only a few times before he’d been in the shower and it was too difficult to separate the scents and get down to ‘real’ Blair, but when he had, his skin gave off the scent of… of… not quite sugar cookie or cotton candy or the amazing from-scratch vanilla frosting Sally made when they were kids. It was like that, but not that.

Ever since the Chief had helped him control his senses, he’d been surreptitiously sniffing people, friends and strangers alike trying to find someone, anyone who smelled like the kid, but so far no luck. Ha. So far, he’d found no one that even smelled good under the layers of perfume, make-up, shampoo, hair spray, deodorant, soap, after shave, or the thousand other things people liked to hide behind. All he’d found was a headache.

Sometimes when he came jarringly awake from another freaking nightmare, he’d take slow, measured breaths to stop the gasping and extend his sense of smell downstairs into Blair’s cubby under the stairs and just breathe him in. It wasn’t something he’d admit in daylight but the dreamy smell of a late summer’s afternoon — as close as he could come to naming his Guide’s scent — calmed him down quicker than anything, reminding him of his childhood and innocence and somehow, his mother’s almost forgotten laughter.

He didn’t know how a scent could do all that and he would never confess those thoughts aloud; it was just another thing that let this … grad student which he had nothing in common with, get under his skin time and time again. No matter that Blair was helping him learn to control his senses. 

Blinking at the coffee pot’s slight gurgle, Jim turned back to see the kid sleeping soundly at the table and dialed back his sense of smell and sight and ruthlessly ignored taste. He wasn’t a queer and wasn’t attracted to the Chief in a sexual way, but he was curious if his skin would taste like it smelled. He was missing that data, that’s all it was, nothing more. 

He’d found out that first day when the garbage truck rumbled over them, that Blair’s hair was surprisingly soft and silky and not stiff and wiry which he’d thought when he first saw it... well after he’d grumped to himself about hippies when he decided that length of hair was too long for a man. Somehow it fit Blair and he wouldn’t be the same if he was in a buzz cut.

In fact with all the science fiction movies on at the theater, Jim thought Blair would fit right in as an alien from some distant planet. His reactions and worldview were so far from normal as to be amusing. Like the coffee thing. Jim snorted and Blair huffed, almost waking up. That first morning he’d moved in, Jim had handed him a steaming mug of the good Kona coffee and Jim thought Blair was going to cum in his pants from the noises he made from the first sip on. After that, he couldn’t get enough, he’d have a mug in hand day or night and it never kept him awake as far as Jim could tell. 

He’d chalked it up to the kid never having tasted good coffee before, but maybe… nah. There was no place on earth that didn’t have coffee in some form or fashion. Blair snuffled and Jim grinned imagining how he would explain to Simon that the Chief was an alien from another planet. Laughing out loud at the same time the coffee started dripping, Blair sat up as if he’d been pinched.

“Coffee.” He slurred, half-open eyes turning unerringly toward the coffee maker. “Coffee.” He whispered reverently starting to get up his voice almost a purr.

“Hold on Chief.” Jim pushed him back with a hand on his shoulder. “Wait until it’s done and I’ll bring you a mug.”

“Coffee.” Blair moaned sadly but settling back, eyes following each drop as it fell both hands clutched around his favorite mug.

Turning a snort into a grunt, Jim pried Blair’s extra-large mug loose and shook his head before setting it down in front of the coffee maker and getting himself one from the drainer. He’d thought the kid practically comatose, but he’d managed to get his favorite coffee mug from the sink without Jim seeing him. Hmmmm. Must have been on the table all along.

His fingers started tingling and he looked down at them in surprise, mug forgotten. _What the…_ he hadn’t dialed back touch before grabbing the mug. Their fingers had come in contact, Blair’s skin was normally warmer than his any day, but he’d never _tingled_ before. That was really weird. Maybe the Chief had come in contact with something… but how? It would have to be something here in the loft. Jim looked around and making sure Blair was preoccupied with the coffee slowly filling the pot, he extended smell and found nothing out of the ordinary on his fingers or Blair’s.

With a little beep the coffee finished and Jim had to push Blair back down in his chair before pouring him the first cup and watching him suck in the vapor before shaking his head and pouring his own cup.

His fingers weren’t tingling anymore and he forgot about it in the aftermath of a sleepy Blair making a fruit and protein smoothie and discussing what they should do with an entirely free day. It wasn’t until late that night when he came screaming awake and heard Blair whispering his name that he remembered. 

“Jim. Jim, it’s ok. Just a dream. You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore.” He heard the Chief roll over and nuzzle his face into the pillow. “Concentrate on my heartbeat and let it go. You’re home, he can’t hurt you anymore.” His voice was a soft whisper, but Jim had no trouble hearing him and tried to do as his Guide instructed. It had taken him a few weeks, but he knew now that if he did what Blair told him to instead of arguing, things smoothed out and he’d feel better sooner.

Only when he was slipping into sleep again did a thought drift up and fade away like smoke. How had Blair known who was in his nightmare?

~~*~~


End file.
